


Scraps

by miraeyeteeth



Series: Patchwork [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, M/M, POV swaps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraeyeteeth/pseuds/miraeyeteeth
Summary: An assortment of extra scenes associated with Patchwork. Points of view from different characters and alternate universe stories, in no particular order.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Patchwork [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567948
Comments: 201
Kudos: 554





	1. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra scene from [Chapter 33](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/47558968), from Martin's point of view. 
> 
> Content warning- anxiety attack symptoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing Patchwork on December 11th, 2018. It's been a year! As a celebration, I've collected some of the extra things I've written for it into a more easily accessible location.

Martin’s hands were shaking badly enough that he nearly dropped his keychain as he was fumbling through it for the key that would open the apartment. He somehow managed to unlatch the door and stumble inside. He shut the door and rested his back against it, staring blankly ahead.

_And now you’ve got some creepy spider powers- which, by the way, are another thing that Jon hates- and all of a sudden he’s kissing you._ Tim’s words kept echoing in Martin’s head, and Martin was having a hard time breathing, like there was a lead weight pressing down on his chest.

Because Tim wasn’t wrong. Martin had his unrequited crush for a long time. And Jon had only even started being civil to him after Martin had become a part of the Web. He’d only claimed to love Martin after Martin had really begun to develop his abilities.

Had Martin forced Jon into doing those things? Woven puppet strings through Jon’s mind and tugged him into behaving the way that Martin wanted?

It wasn’t impossible. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but maybe he hadn’t needed to. Sometimes it seemed like just being around Jon was enough to make people want to give him information. What kind of unintentional influence could Martin be exerting on the people around him? On Jon?

It made sense, really. Everything about this was too good to be true. What other reason would there be for Jon to claim to love him?

Martin thought about the soft way that Jon looked at him, the quirk of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when he saw Martin.

He thought about pulling that facade aside to reveal Jon’s actual emotions, about the disgust and horror and hatred that would wash over Jon’s face when he was finally free enough to realize what Martin had done to him.

Martin clutched his arms and slowly slid to the floor, his knees giving way under him.

He thought about the times he had hugged Jon. About his arms caging Jon in place while some inner part of Jon struggled and screamed, desperate to escape but smothered under countless layers of cobwebs until his body could only be relaxed and pliant in Martin’s grip.

Martin felt sick.

Every memory of Jon felt wrong, felt possessive and controlling and monstrous. Every touch was him threading hooks through Jon’s flesh, binding him and dragging him down. Every kiss was a red-hot brand he’d pressed into Jon’s skin. Every one of Jon’s smiles or chuckles or soft words was something that Martin had torn out of him.

Jon would hate him. Jon, the real Jon, did hate him, surely. He had hated him before Martin had been able to spin his webs, and afterward Martin had only proven how justified that hatred had been. The sharp, sweet man who loved Martin wasn’t real; he was only a fantasy that Martin had forced into existence at Jon’s expense.

_Monsters are monsters, aren’t they?_

Martin closed his eyes and tried to breathe, tried not to fall apart. He wasn’t the victim here. He didn’t deserve to have a breakdown. What was important was figuring out how to not hurt Jon any more than he already had.

Martin couldn’t erase what he had done. He couldn’t turn back the clock, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was tempting to just… leave. Martin could pack up his things and disappear, get himself out of Jon’s life before he could do more damage. That way, he wouldn’t need to see the look on Jon’s face when he finally realized what Martin had done to him.

But Martin wasn’t even sure that he would be able to stay away from the Archives permanently. Tim couldn’t.

And even without that consideration, there was no guarantee that the webs he had caught Jon in would go away when he did. Leaving without a word might trap Jon in the state Martin had forced him into. It might cause him more distress and make him look for Martin. Martin had to let Jon see the lie he had been manipulated into. He had to at least try to set Jon free.

And that meant that Martin would need to talk to him. Would need to face up to what he had done.

He would have to do that when Jon got home. And after…

Martin should pack his things now, so that there wouldn’t be any reminders of him once Jon realized the truth and threw him out.

There was still the problem of him being tied to the Archives, but if he really couldn’t find a way to break that bond, maybe he could just go there when Jon was elsewhere. It shouldn’t be difficult to avoid Jon once Jon wanted to avoid him.

It took Martin a long time to pick himself off the floor and begin to gather his things together. He tried not to notice the way that his belongings had begun to migrate through the apartment, mingling with Jon’s. He rearranged shelves to fill in any gaps that he had left, and did his best to erase any signs of his presence. He evicted more spiders that had attempted to colonize the cupboard beneath the sink.

He wondered if Jon would hate spiders even more, now. Probably.

Martin hoped that they would stop trying to get into Jon’s apartment, once Martin was gone. He hoped that Jon wouldn’t have too many reminders of the way that Martin had violated his mind.

He hoped that Jon would be able to be okay, eventually.

Martin took everything that he had gathered and put it in the entryway, then did another sweep of the apartment to ensure that he hadn’t missed anything.

After that, the only thing left to do was wait for Jon to come back. Martin mechanically made a cup of tea for himself in an attempt to calm his nerves.

He didn’t drink the tea, only sat on the sofa and stared into it, trying not to think about all of the ways that he had hurt Jon.


	2. Husks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's point of view of the events of [Chapter 33](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/47558968), requested by PrimTheAmazing. 
> 
> Content warning- thoughts bordering on suicide ideation, and implied (perceived) sexual assault.

_You can pretend I’m not here_. That was a bad joke. Like Tim was just going to be able to _ignore_ the second monster that had replaced one of his co-workers.

For all that Tim was starting to believe that death might not be too bad an alternative to working in this place, he highly doubted that whatever Martin was now would decide to just kill him cleanly. All the monsters he’d ever heard of (and encountered) seemed to like to take their time, drag things out, toy with their prey.

So Tim was constantly and intensely aware of wherever Martin was while they were sharing space in the Archives. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end whenever he heard Martin get up from his desk, heart rate picking up and muscles tensing. The monster had done it three times so far, once to fetch some files, once to go to the restroom, and now he had disappeared into the break room. Tim didn’t know if it was better or worse, when Martin was out of sight.

Tim flinched at the sound of the printer kicking on. It started spitting out reams of pages while the door to Jon’s office creaked open and the asshole himself slunk out into the open. He had the distant look in his eyes that indicated his thoughts were entirely elsewhere, and he didn’t so much as glance at Tim as he fetched the printouts and shuffled through them, muttering to himself.

Martin breezed past Tim’s desk, making a beeline for Jon before the man disappeared back into his office. Tim watched with mild horror as Jon absentmindedly took the offered cup of tea. He wasn’t really going to _drink_ something that a monster had made, was h–

And then Jon kissed Martin. The distant look in his eyes didn’t clear away, but Jon stopped reading the papers long enough to turn his head towards Martin, pop up onto his toes, and press a kiss to Martin’s cheek.

This apparently wasn’t any kind of a surprise to Martin, who watched with hooded eyes and a smirk as Jon vanished back into his office.

Whatever deal Martin had made with the spiders, they had gotten him what he wanted. Jon. The thought of what might have happened to Jon while Tim had been gone made him feel ill.

Before Tim could think better of forcing a confrontation with the thing, angry words were flying from his mouth while his fists clenched, braced against the edge of his desk. “Martin. What the hell did you do to Jon?”

Martin blinked, the smile fading as he looked at Tim, aping confusion. “I.. what? I just got him some tea. Like always?”

Some part of Tim wondered if the monster was actually trying to deny it, or whether he just thought being disingenuous was funny. Not that it really mattered. “Yeah, you did. And then he kissed you. The guy who you’ve had a hopeless crush on for years. The guy who actively despised you for most of those years. And now you’ve got some creepy spider powers- which, by the way, are another thing that Jon hates- and all of a sudden, he’s kissing you.”

Martin’s eyes went wide, and he shifted gears, changing from acting confused to acting horrified. “No, that’s not… I would never–”

Did he really expect that to work? “It sure _looks_ like that’s what you’re doing. Wouldn’t have believed it before, but I guess monsters are monsters, aren’t they?” Tim spat.

“Tim, I’m not- I’m not forcing anything on Jon. I swear. I don’t–” Martin continued with the charade, at least until the door to Jon’s office was yanked open again and Jon lurched into the doorway.

“Martin. Please leave, I think I need to speak with Tim alone,” Jon said, and he sounded more frantic than usual. Had he realized that Tim might be able to help him?

“But–” Martin began to protest.

“Out,” Jon cut him off, and Martin left. Any hope that Tim had of being able to stop this died then, as Martin ascended the stairs. If talking to Jon was going to do any good, then Martin wouldn’t have knuckled under so quickly. Which meant this was what he wanted to have happen.

Tim looked away from the empty staircase and eyed Jon warily. “Gonna tell me it’s all of your own free will, boss?”

Jon sighed. “I would, if I expected that to convince you. Come in and sit down,“ he said, motioning to his office.

Tim begrudgingly got up and walked into Jon’s office. Once there, his attention was drawn to the cobwebs that covered the papers in the wastepaper basket. He remembered Jon freaking out about the tiniest spider that had scuttled out from behind one of the filing boxes Jon had been rooting through. He remembered the spiders swarming over Martin’s skin. The way that Jon had been staring off elsewhere when he kissed Martin.

Dissociation? Was Martin just threatening Jon into compliance, or had he messed with his head even more than that?

“Sit down, Tim.”

Tim sat, watching Jon settle at his desk and clasp his hands in front of him, clearing his throat. “First, I appreciate your concern.”

The damn professionalism of his tone grated on Tim. Like there was anything about this entire situation that was in any way professional. Tim crossed his arms and slouched further in his chair. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a bastard, but no one deserves to be forced into something like this,” he said.

“I would think that my being a bastard would be a point in my favour. If Martin was the one controlling my actions now, don’t you think I’d be less of a prat?” Jon asked.

Tim hadn’t thought a lot of things. Tim hadn’t thought that Martin would be the kind of person to harm someone else like this. He hadn’t thought that his friend had been dead for six months. He hadn’t thought his job was full of monsters and killers and something he could never escape. “Who can say? I thought I knew what Sasha was like, too, but that didn’t help me notice anything when that thing killed her and took her place, did it?” Tim replied.

“No. No, it didn’t,” Jon admitted, and he suddenly looked incredibly tired, even more so than usual.

Just what had he gone through? What had happened, when Tim had left him to Martin?

Tim looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have left you alone here. Now you're…"

Unbidden, Tim wondered what would be underneath now, if Jon’s skin were pulled away like Danny’s had been. Nothing but cobwebs, or was there still enough of him inside to be afraid of what was happening to him? Tim let out a huff of a laugh, because it was either that or a sob. He’d left Danny alone, left Sasha alone, left Jon alone. Just how many husks of people he once knew was he going to be faced with? “I guess I have a habit of abandoning people to become hollowed-out puppets, don’t I?”

There was a beat of silence, then Jon spoke again. “Martin hasn’t done anything like that to me, Tim.”

Yeah, because Jon would definitely want to kiss a spider monster of his own volition. “And you would know, right?”

Jon sighed. “Well, I can’t ask you to believe me or Martin. For one thing, asking for your trust would be incredibly hypocritical. However. We do still need to work together. For now, know that I’m aware that you’re opposed to my will being subverted. And that I appreciate it. If I do end up needing help, if I’m in distress, I will speak with you about it, or seek help in some other manner. Until that time, you can assume that I’m content with the current situation involving Martin. …or you can assume that this whole thing is one more horror that is outside of your power to resolve. Either or.”

“So you’re asking me to just drop this,” Tim said flatly. He wondered if this was supposed to be a warning. Stay out of it, or else.

“Essentially. If you wanted to, I suppose you could go to HR and report me for taking advantage of my subordinate, but given our current situation, I very much doubt that would be successful in removing either Martin or myself from the Archives,” Jon pointed out.

“Yeah. If stalking didn’t get you canned, then why would screwing your assistant?” Tim said bitterly. He regretted the last few words as soon as he said them. He hated it here and he hated Jon but it wasn’t like Jon had been given a say in whatever Martin had decided to do to him.

“We aren’t– That doesn’t really matter,” Jon said, and Tim hoped that was true, that Martin somehow still had some boundaries. Not that the whole situation wasn’t bad enough already.

Jon kept making excuses for Martin, kept making excuses for himself, kept making excuses for the Institute, like anything about this entire place could be anything but a complete nightmare.

But Tim didn’t think Jon was a good enough actor to just keep pretending he was fine with Martin. He certainly hadn’t been very subtle about his rampaging paranoia, and that was when he’d been doing his best to skulk around unnoticed.

It wasn’t just a threat that Martin was holding over Jon’s head to keep him in line, then. He’d actually messed with Jon’s perception in some way.

Even if Jon could somehow break free of that, there probably wasn’t anything either of them could do. Once the monsters set their sights on you, that tended to be it. You were going to suffer horrifically and then maybe if you were lucky, you would die.

Tim still tried to reach out, one more time. Maybe because he still had some hope, somewhere. Maybe because Jon deserved to at least be in his right mind when he met his fate. Maybe because Tim didn’t want to be the only one fully aware of how incredibly fucked up everything was. Or maybe Tim was just an idiot. “I… I don’t know how much leeway you have, like this. But you should think about what you actually want. About where the other things you’re feeling might be coming from.”

“I already have. Truly,” Jon replied.

Yeah, that was about what he expected. Tim left to go sit at his desk and try to ignore his own inevitable horrible fate.


	3. Dead End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate universe outcome for [Chapter 33's extra scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754579/chapters/51902662), inspired by theadventuregay's tags and continued at GammaSpectrum's request.
> 
> Content warnings- No Happy Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Whump, Mind Control, Gaslighting, and Internalized Aphobia and Arophobia. 
> 
> The last scene in particular has a lot of internalized aphobia. It's all lies, but they're damn convincing and ubiquitous lies and it may be distressing to read for some folks. Please take care of yourselves and skip this one unless you like pain. The other extras are happier, I promise.

It was tempting to just… leave. Martin could pack up his things and disappear, get himself out of Jon’s life before he could do more damage.

But Jon was in danger. Not just from Martin. From others, too, ones like Prentiss and Michael and not-Sasha. From Elias. He needed to be looked after, protected. And Martin could do that now. Martin had done that, had gotten rid of not-Sasha before they could hurt Jon.

And Martin wasn’t _hurting_ Jon, technically. Jon wasn’t upset or afraid. (Not at the moment, anyway.) Martin couldn’t justify taking any further advantage of Jon, of course. Not now that he understood what was going on. That would be crossing a line.

But it wouldn’t be any worse than it already was, just to be around Jon. Just as a friend. Just in case. Once Jon was safer, then Martin could let him go entirely.

It meant lying to Jon, meant continuing to manipulate him, for now. But that was for the best. Jon could hate him later, once he was safe. Martin would make sure that Jon would be able to hate him for a long, long time.

Martin took a deep breath and gathered his resolve together. He could do this.

* * *

When Jon returned to the apartment, he walked up beside Martin where he was stood at the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes for supper. “Are you feeling better? I’m sorry about Tim,” he said, putting a hand on Martin’s arm.

“I did some thinking, but I’m doing better now,” Martin replied.

“That’s a relief. Do you need any help?”

“You can chop the carrots, if you like.”

“All right,” Jon agreed, and then he leaned up to try to kiss Martin on the cheek. Martin flinched away, taking a quick step sideways to put more space between them.

“Martin? What’s the matter?” Jon asked, sounding confused.

Martin let out a huff of a breath, shaking his head. “A lot, Jon. You, you know how our lives are. But for this, specifically, it’s just… I don’t think you should kiss me. _You don’t want to kiss me_,” Martin reminded Jon, putting enough power behind it to break through the threads that were already pulling at Jon.

Jon blinked, disorientated for a moment as the webs settled over him. “No. You’re right. I must have… forgotten,” he said distantly.

“Nothing to worry about, Jon,” Martin assured him. “Why don’t you get those carrots sorted? It shouldn’t be too long before we can get supper done; I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Jon smiled at him. “All right, Martin.”

* * *

Martin seemed to be feeling better by the time that Jon made it back to the apartment. Well, possibly. He was starting on supper and Jon was starting to suspect that Martin focused on doing tasks for other people when he didn’t want to think about something.

Best to check in. “Are you feeling better? I’m sorry about Tim,” he asked, laying a hand on Martin’s arm.

“I did some thinking, but I’m doing better now,” Martin replied with a little shrug. He didn’t meet Jon’s eyes.

“That’s a relief. Do you need any help?”

“You can chop the carrots, if you like.”

“All right,” Jon agreed, and then he leaned up to try to kiss Martin on the cheek. 

Martin flinched away, taking a quick step sideways to put more space between them. Jon was left standing there with his hand outstretched.

“Martin? What’s the matter?” Jon asked. He didn’t remember Martin ever pulling away from him like that before. Was he hurt?

Martin let out a huff of a breath, shaking his head. “A lot, Jon. You, you know how our lives are. But for this, specifically, it’s just… I don’t think you should kiss me. _You don’t want to kiss me_.“

Jon felt unbalanced for a second, his thoughts foggy and unfocused. Then the moment passed, and everything fell back into place. That was right. Jon didn’t like kissing. He never really had. He was lucky that Martin had noticed and reminded him. “No. You’re right. I must have… forgotten,” he said distantly.

“Nothing to worry about, Jon,” Martin assured him.

* * *

The rest of the night passed relatively uneventfully, and Martin had been naive enough to hope that things had been sorted out.

But in the morning Jon still kept touching him, even though he was no longer being compelled to kiss Martin. Affectionately squeezing his shoulder as he passed by Martin on the sofa, linking their hands together on the way to the station, leaning against Martin’s side as they sat on the train. Apologetically explaining that he’d need to act more professionally while in the Archives, to keep from further upsetting Tim, so he needed to take advantage of the time they had outside.

Affection poured off of Jon in waves, and even though Martin had done his best to avoid it or make excuses for why he couldn’t hold Jon’s hand, it was a constant reminder of what he had done to Jon.

The webs Martin had woven around Jon must have been extensive. It had taken six months of work to get to this point, it only made sense that Martin wouldn’t be able to untangle Jon with just one command.

Martin didn’t want to use his powers on Jon any more than he needed to. He knew that Jon wouldn’t like it, if Martin let him notice what was going on. But he needed to do this, to get Jon somewhat loose from the webs he was already tangled in. This was only fixing what Martin had set wrong in the first place. That was acceptable. Martin was obligated to do it, really. He needed to stop all of this at the source. He had already kept up the charade for too long. It wasn’t fair to Jon.

When they got back to the apartment, Martin sat the both of them on the sofa, bracing himself for what he needed to do. “Jon, I… I think we should just be friends,” he said.

“You… what?” Jon said, sounding shocked and dismayed. His eyes searched Martin’s face like the answers might be written there. “Why? Did I… did I do something wrong? If, if it’s something I did, I’ll–”

“No. No, of course not, Jon. It’s not you. It’s all my fault, really. I never should have pushed you into this. _You don’t really love me, after all._” Martin admitted, finally facing up to what he had always known and putting it into words.

Jon faltered, and for the first time seemed to resist one of Martin’s compulsions. Probably because of all the webs that were already tugging him in the other direction. Jon shook his head, dragging in a ragged breath and clenching his hands. “I– no. No, I do, I love–”

“_You don’t, Jon_.” Martin repeated, forcing the truth out.

The last resistance washed away, and Jon’s shoulders slumped. He wrapped his arms around himself. “You’re right. I don’t. I… I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I really thought that… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Jon. There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. And… we’re still friends, aren’t we?” Martin asked, hoping that part of his web was still in place.

Jon nodded eagerly. Still beguiled. “Yes. Of course. I… Thank you. For being so understanding.”

“It’s nothing, really. You don’t need to worry. I’ll always be on your side, Jon,” Martin replied.

This was for the best.

* * *

Jon had been a bit confused when Martin had solemnly sat him down on the sofa and sat next to him, two feet away. He didn’t expect what Martin had to say next. “Jon, I… I think we should just be friends.”

Jon’s stomach dropped. “You… what?” Jon asked, reeling. He desperately tried to remember what could have gone wrong in the last few days. He had thought that everything had been all right. Good, even. “Why? Did I… did I do something wrong? If, if it’s something I did, I’ll–”

“No. No, of course not, Jon. It’s not you. It’s all my fault, really. I never should have pushed you into this. _You don’t really love me, after all_.”

The last sentence struck Jon like a physical blow, throwing him off balance. His heart lurched in his chest. He could feel it, this time, the drag on his thoughts, the lassitude that washed over him, draining away the will to resist. The binds that latched around the soft warmth in Jon’s chest and began to tear it away.

No. No, this wasn’t right. Something was horribly wrong. Jon fought against the pull, scrambled against the rising tide that was threatening to overwhelm his mind. He dragged in a ragged breath, a distant part of him surprised that his lungs still worked when his chest was being torn open. “I– no. No, I do, I love–”

“_You don’t, Jon_.” Martin repeated, and Jon was dragged under.

Everything was clear now. Jon didn’t love Martin, couldn’t love Martin.

Martin was kind and sweet and considerate and he didn’t even mind that Jon would never be ready to have sex, but Jon couldn’t manage the bare minimum of actually reciprocating his love, not even in the few ways Jon had available to him. Jon had just been lonely and desperate enough for any kind of affection that he’d lied to Martin, lied to himself, fooled the both of them into thinking that there was actually something that Jon had to offer. Jon was broken, and he should have known that. Should have accepted that before he’d led Martin on and given him false hope. Martin deserved better than that. He deserved someone who could actually return his feelings, someone who could give him what he needed, someone who could actually be a full person.

And Jon hadn’t even had the decency to realize this himself and let Martin go; Martin had needed to piece together the clues about how fundamentally lacking Jon was on his own. 

Shame burned through Jon, and he swallowed thickly, wrapping his arms around himself and looking away. "You’re right. I don’t. I… I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I really thought that… I’m sorry.” He had to force the words out, but Martin at least deserved to have Jon acknowledge his deficiency.

“It’s not your fault, Jon. There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. And… we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Relief washed over Jon. Martin didn’t blame him. Of course not, Martin had always been kinder than Jon deserved. Jon leapt at the offer, nodding eagerly. “Yes. Of course. I… Thank you. For being so understanding.”

Martin was such a good friend.


	4. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin's point of view from the "they'll just assume we're sleeping together" scene in [Chapter 23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/43953424), requested by Somuchbetterthanthat/RavenXavier

As Martin tried to get comfortable in the sleeping bag, he wondered if he should be trying to get used to this.

Martin wasn’t under any illusions. Jon kept him around because Martin was useful, because he had no choice but to work with him.

And that was fine by Martin. He liked being helpful. If he could make Jon happy by being useful, then Martin was happy.

(He’d taken the memory of Jon’s genuine laughter at a joke Martin had made and wrapped it up tightly, stored it away to be revisited whenever he wanted. It didn’t matter to Martin that it had mostly been Jon being giddy at the prospect of getting his hands on the tapes.)

But now, Jon had the tapes. And Martin’s use was at an end. Jon wouldn’t want him around any more, and Martin didn’t really have anywhere else to go.

He was pretty sure he’d be able to take the sleeping bag, though, so it wasn’t all bad. He should probably broach the topic now so that he’d know how much time he had to get things prepared.

“Jon?”

“You’re supposed to be trying to sleep,” Jon said.

"I know, I will, I just… I was thinking, will I… Do you want me to find somewhere else to live? After we get out of here? I mean, you’ve got the tapes now, which is what you wanted my help for. I’ve kind of… kind of outlived my usefulness at this point. Should I start packing, when we get back?”

”…have you determined who murdered Gertrude in the last five minutes and merely neglected to inform me?“ Jon asked.

"What? No.”

“Then I can still use your help, can’t I?”

Ah, that was right; the tapes weren’t the end of this mystery. And Jon thought Martin could still contribute to solving it. “…oh. Yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” he replied, feeling hope start to kindle in his chest.

“And besides, we still need to work together on the next phase. You wanted the police involved in this,” Jon added.

The police were a complication, though. “Right. That’s… that’s another reason why I thought you might want me to clear out. I mean, what if they come to your apartment and find me there?” Martin asked.

“Hmn. That seems unlikely. They would need a warrant to search my home, and then they would need to show up when you were present. And even if they do find out about you, it’s likely they would merely assume we’re sleeping together. Office romances may be scandalous, but they aren’t illegal.”

Martin wondered, sometimes, if he really had made Jon forget about his confession.

He’d certainly wanted to at the time, wanted to snatch those words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat.

He’d wanted to when he looked at Jon with his head buried in his arms, hiding his expression from Martin. Disgust? Disdain? Something worse?

And then Martin had asked if they could forget about it, and Jon had agreed, and then Jon just went back to treating him like normal.

(Like normal for a person, even, and not for a monster.)

Martin couldn’t be sure if he’d brainwashed Jon or not. And he couldn’t ask; the best case scenario was that Jon had voluntarily decided to ignore Martin’s feelings for the sake of their necessary cooperation, and bringing it up again would only result in more rejection and another kick to his unrequited affections. Worst case, he actually had used his powers on Jon again despite promising not to, and making Jon aware of that fact would make Jon hate him even more at the same time he told Jon about his feelings again.

And when Jon said things like that, it brought all those questions back up to the surface. Jon wouldn’t casually talk about others thinking they were sleeping together if he could actually remember that Martin was in love with him, would he?

Martin didn’t know. Jon’s thought process was entirely a mystery to Martin, which was a nerve-wracking thing to have to worry about when half of the decisions it seemed to lead Jon to were incredibly dangerous. How was Martin supposed to keep Jon safe when he was entirely unable to predict what the man would do next?

Martin shoved away the intrusive thought that whispered he could always just make Jon keep himself safe.

“…yeah, I, I guess that would probably happen. But wouldn’t that… bother you?” Martin asked.

“People making stupid assumptions? I suppose it does, on principle, but it’s not as though I haven’t had plenty of experience dealing with people jumping to ludicrous conclusions in essentially every statement I come across. I’m not about to complain about it if it works in my favour for once. …So long as Tim doesn’t find out about it.”

Martin couldn’t help the brief burst of a laugh at the mental image of Tim’s reaction to the rumor of an illicit relationship between Jon and Martin of all people. “God, can you imagine? He would never let us hear the end of that.”

"It would be a rough few weeks, at least,” Jon drawled.

“Yeah,” Martin said. He felt simultaneously guilty and pathetic for entertaining a brief fantasy of Jon and him needing to pretend to be a couple to maintain their cover. Guilty, because Jon would hate that, and pathetic because if Martin was going to be dreaming up fantastical scenarios, he could at least have enough self-respect to have a fantasy where his feelings were actually reciprocated.

“…okay. Just… wanted to make sure. Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight.”


	5. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra scene that happened during [Chapter 41](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/50966167), from Tim's point of view after he gives his statement.

Tim left Jon’s office, shut the door behind him, and walked up to Martin’s desk. He took a deep breath. “Martin.”

“Yeah?” the monster that looked like Tim’s coworker asked, glancing warily up from his book.

“That offer to talk. Is it still on the table?” Tim asked.

“… Yes?” Martin replied, hesitantly.

“Great. Not here, though.”

“Why not?”

Tim snorted. “Take your pick of reasons. Because this place is a nightmare and I’m going to take any excuse to get out of it. Because I want to talk on ‘neutral ground’. Because I want witnesses around in case you get any ideas.” _Because Martin was always conflict-avoidant and if there’s anything of him still left, then the second the discussion gets difficult, Jon is going to suddenly emerge from his office as a distraction._

“All right. I could use a walk, anyway,” Martin agreed, getting up from his desk.

Tim let Martin go up the stairs first. After they got out of the Institute, Martin trailed behind him as Tim made his way to a little cafe, one where he knew the owner kept a solid metal prybar behind the counter, just in case. 

They settled at a table in a quieter section of the cafe.

“So, you, you wanted to talk to me?” Martin asked.

“Yeah. I… Look, Martin, you care about Jon, don’t you?” Tim said.

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“If you really do, then you should stop doing this to him. It’s wrong. It’s really, really wrong. There should be enough of you left in there to recognize that, isn’t there? Just… let him go. Please,” Tim added.

“Tim, I’m not… Jon wants me around, I promise. And if he ever wants me to leave him alone, then I will.”

“Sure. But is he actually _able_ to want to you to leave him alone? Or did you remove that part of him?” Tim asked.

“Well, if he’s able to decide to lie to me and run off to have his hand burnt to a crisp, then I’m pretty sure he’s able to want me gone, too,” Martin retorted. “Believe me, I’d rather have him safe and away from me than hurting or in danger and here. But that’s not my decision to make. And… it’s not yours, either.”

“I’m not trying to decide for him. I’m trying to make sure he has a choice,” Tim said.

Martin sighed. “He does, Tim. At least when it comes to me. He always will. But… there’s nothing I can say that will convince you, is there? Nothing that Jon can do. Even if he _did_ break it off with me, you’d probably worry that was part of my machinations, too, wouldn’t you? Just setting up something worse down the line. All that’s left is waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Tim didn’t say anything.

“…You’re afraid of me still, aren’t you?” Martin asked.

Tim bristled. “If that’s supposed to be some kind of threat, then you can–”

“No. I’m just… you’re afraid of me, and you know what kind of things I can do, and you still came to talk to me. Alone. Because you’re worried about Jon.”

“Or maybe I just have a death wish,” Tim replied.

“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s all of it. You’re a good friend, Tim. And Jon could use more of those. I don't… I can’t prove a negative. I can’t prove that I’m not hurting Jon, and I know you won’t believe Jon if he tells you that himself. And I’m not going to leave Jon, not until he wants me to.”

“So this whole conversation has been entirely pointless, is what you’re saying,” Tim said flatly.

“Not from my perspective. I understand you better now, I think. I… I wish we could be friends again, Tim. But I know that’s probably never going to happen.”

“Why don’t you just force me into it? Sand away all the bits you don’t like, make me slot in nicely into your happy little slice of domesticity,” Tim sneered.

Martin shook his head. “That isn’t what being friends is. I'm… sorry, that I can’t be the kind of friend you need. And that this whole thing is so awful for you. It’s really great that you’re looking out for Jon like this. I… I want him to have someone he can turn to, in case I become… In case I become what you think I already am. And I think that Jon will do his best to try to help you, too, if you let him. I really hope that you can both rely on each other, even if only a little.”

“Was that supposed to win me over?” Tim asked flatly.

“No. Feel free to hate me as much as you like,” Martin replied with a shrug. “Just thinking out loud, mostly. Is, is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”

“…how long have you been like this? Or have you always been a monster, and you just used to be better at hiding it?”

“The spider thing happened to me almost a year ago, now. Right before I started living in the Archives, last spring.”

“So you’ve been gone even longer than Sasha has been, then,” Tim said.

“I’m not gone, Tim. I’m right here.”

“You know, I bet that Prentiss thought that, too.”

“You’re probably right.” Martin closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “Enjoy your coffee, Tim,” he said, and got to his feet.


	6. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short scene from Martin's POV, from [Chapter 34](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/48123109)

Martin really thought that he had been doing a pretty good job. The dense, tightened muscles that had seemed to make up the entirety of Jon's back and shoulders had finally started to relax after much coaxing. But the appreciative sighs and hums from Jon had tapered off and finally stopped entirely. The hand on Martin's knee slid off.

Martin paused, waiting for Jon to say that he'd had enough. He tried to ignore the twist of anxiety in his stomach that whispered that he must have done something wrong, that he never should have tried this, that Jon was probably uncomfortable with this whole thing and only went along with Martin to humour him…

But nothing happened. Jon didn't try to get up or shrug off Martin's hands, but he didn't complain that Martin had paused in his ministrations either.

"Jon?" Martin asked.

The only response Martin got was a slow, deep inhale. Jon had, at some point, fallen asleep.

Martin gingerly withdrew his hands from Jon's back, and couldn't help but stare.

It was one thing to hear Jon say that he trusted Martin. And Martin did believe Jon, when he said it. Mostly.

But it was something entirely different to have Jon peacefully drift off with Martin on his bed, with Martin in his personal space, with Martin's hands on him.

It wasn't as though Jon hadn't slept near him before, both in the tunnels and in the Archives, but this felt so much more intimate, somehow. This wasn't a result of a utilitarian need for a second pair of eyes during a stakeout or exploration of the tunnels. This wasn't something Jon had needed to do, in order to achieve some goal or track down some answer.

Martin was here simply because Jon had wanted him to be here. Because Jon wanted Martin to be near him. It was still almost impossible to believe, with the lingering anxiety still lurking in the back of Martin's mind. But seeing Jon like this, relaxed and unguarded beside him, somehow made that impossibility seem so much more likely.

Martin just knelt there beside him for a moment, his chest so full of fond tenderness that it felt like he might overflow.

Finally, Martin climbed off of the bed and pulled a blanket over Jon, draping it gently around his shoulders. He stooped and lightly brushed his lips over the cheek that wasn't mashed into Jon's pillow. Jon mumbled something indistinctly, but didn't stir otherwise.

_ I stayed up past 5 am researching 20th century medical practices instead of sleeping. I only realized what I had done when the sun started coming up. _ Martin remembered hearing Jon explain, and wondered how many other nights like that there had been, where Jon had foregone sleep in lieu of something else.

Martin's fingers twitched a bit on the blanket and he wondered if Jon would let him do this every night, to make sure that the man actually went to sleep.

On second thought, that wasn't a very well thought out plan. The novelty of the thing would surely wear off relatively quickly; Martin very much doubted that he would be able to massage Jon into unconsciousness every night.

Martin would still be willing to try, certainly. But he doubted Jon would agree to it. No doubt Jon would consider it a waste, to spend so much time every night not devoted to research. And the idea of pressuring a reluctant Jon to take off his clothes, lay down in bed, and let Martin touch him made Martin's skin crawl.

Martin sighed, let go of the blanket, and walked to the doorway. Maybe one day, things would be peaceful enough that Jon wouldn't feel the need to work late into the night trying to find answers. Until then, Martin would just have cherish these nights while he had them.

"Goodnight, Jon," Martin said softly, before flicking off the light and quietly closing the bedroom door.


	7. Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU version of [Chapter 38](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/49855628), based on an anonymous prompt for Tim to kidnap Jon.

“Look, Jon, you seem pretty lucid now. Forget about going to go talk to Jude; just get as far away from here as you can.”

Jon sighed. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. Thank you for caring. Really. But I’m all right. I’m not being coerced or controlled,” Jon said, then smiled bitterly. “Well, not by Martin, at any rate. And if you still don’t believe me, then you can just remember that I’m a monster, too. You don’t need to feel badly for monsters. Now, go. Stay at the hotel, consider it a vacation. By the day after tomorrow, I’ll be back. …or they’ll at least likely have found my smouldering corpse.”

Tim looked like he wanted to say something else, but just sighed and got to his feet, taking the offered money. “Try not to die.”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you, Tim.”

* * *

When Jon stepped outside of the Institute, a hand wrapped around his arm and yanked him down a side street. Jon instinctively tried and failed to pull away from the grip, and instead had to stumble along to avoid being dragged across the ground.

“Let go of m– Tim?” Jon asked.

“Shut it. We’re getting out of here, both of us,” Tim replied, not slowing.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to just leave you here with that thing, especially not now that I know what it’s been doing to you.”

“That thing– you mean Martin? Martin isn’t doing anything to me, Tim.”

“No, it isn’t Martin, and you still thinking that it is him is a pretty clear sign that it’s been messing with your head. You’re already planning on defying it right now, so that probably means it’s loosed its grip a bit. You probably won’t get a better chance than this to get away, not after it realizes that you’ve been managing to act independently. So we need to go, now.”

“So you’re saying that, in order to protect my free will, you’re going to kidnap me?” Jon asked flatly.

“It’s not… Fine. You know what? Sure. If that’s what it takes, then yes.” Tim said, and continued to drag Jon away.

* * *

“So what now? Do you even have a plan?” Jon asked, as they sat in the train compartment. “You know that we can’t stay away from the Institute forever.”

“Hopefully, we won’t have to. It seems like whatever grip it has is weakening, a bit. I figure it might wear off, and then… we can work out what to do from there,” Tim replied.

“And if it doesn’t wear off?”

Tim shrugged. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Maybe if we’re gone for long enough, the thing will get bored and move on.”

“Martin isn’t just going to move on, Tim. He’s going to be worried about me. You should give me back my mobile; we should at least let him know that–”

“No. We aren’t talking to that thing. You said it can do its mind control shit over the phone. Not gonna be risking that.”

Jon let out a long, exasperated sigh and slumped in his seat. “This is a terrible plan, you must know that.”

Tim set his jaw and shrugged. “If nothing else, it’ll at least be a period of time where the two of us aren’t being manipulated as a part of some evil, spooky plan. Where you aren’t subjected to whatever the hell that thing has been doing to you. If a delay is all I can cause, then a delay is what I’ll settle for.”

Jon let out a humorless huff of a laugh. “You know, I think you’re the first person to follow through on a threat to force me onto a vacation.”

“Maybe if someone had done it sooner, you wouldn’t be caught in a web.”

“Maybe. But this is the path that I am on now. And I’m not caught in any web of Martin’s.”

“Sure,” Tim replied, and lapsed into silence.

Jon stared out the window and considered his options. This could only ever be a temporary situation, and as much as Jon itched to get back to his research, escaping back to the Institute would probably cause more problems than it solved. Tim was desperate, and angry, and he likely felt that he had nothing left to lose. Escaping would lead to either Jon being dragged back and held under closer scrutiny, or force a confrontation between Tim and Martin. Tim might try to hurt Martin, or drive Martin to act in self-defence. It was unlikely to end well for either of them. But if Jon stayed, maybe he could talk Tim around. In the worst case scenario, they would be back at the Institute within two weeks or so anyway.

Martin would be worried, but he could take care of himself. Jon could try to get a message to him after Tim dropped his guard a little.

* * *

Jon changed his mind. Tim was clearly trying to murder him.

“You’re not supposed to roll the kayak like that!” Tim called, as Jon sputtered and shook the water out of his eyes.

“Tell that to the waves!” he yelled back. “This is an absurd pastime and I never should have let you talk me into it!”

“Don’t be like that! You’re doing great, boss!” Tim replied with a laugh.

Jon grumbled, but he still couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time that he had genuinely heard Tim laugh.

* * *

Jon woke up feeling awful. The feeling had been building for the last few days, but now it had really hit him. He was tired, and shaky, and a headache was beginning to pound through his skull. He groaned and rolled into a miserable huddle.

“You all right?” Tim asked from the other side of the hotel room.

“No,” Jon replied. “I think it’s… we must have been away from the Archives for too long.”

“That’s weird. I feel fine,” Tim said. “I wonder… you said you belonged to the Eye, right? Like, proper belong, not just sort of shackled to it like the rest of us.”

“That’s my understanding, yes,” Jon replied, trying to focus.

“I wonder if being around you is like being in the Archives. If you’re considered an extension of it now, or something.”

“If I am, why am I feeling like this?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe you’re just coming down with something normal, like a cold?”

“This doesn’t feel like a cold. It feels like… like I’m running on empty.”

“Then maybe you need stories. Horrors, like the rest of that place.”

“A statement. I’ve got some kind of a… dependence, now?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I… I need to go back, Tim.”

Tim sighed. “Suppose it never could have lasted, could it?”

“You knew that as well as I did.”

“What about Martin? Are you still…?”

“In love? Yes. Brainwashed, no, because I never was brainwashed. I don’t know how to convince you of that,” Jon grumbled, unable to come up with a more convincing argument through the discomfort.

“This was all for nothing, then. Story of my life, I guess,” Tim said, apparently to himself. “Well, it’ll all be over soon. I’ll get us packed up.”

* * *

They were making their way back to the train station when a voice startled Jon out of his half-daze.

“Jon!”

“Martin?” Jon turned to see Martin just down the perpendicular street. There was a brief moment where they just stared at each other. Then the moment broke and Jon rushed forward to meet Martin.

“Jon, get away from him!” Tim exclaimed, but Jon didn’t slow.

Martin ignored Tim entirely, closing the remaining distance between them in several long strides and bundling Jon into his arms. "I found you. You’re all right. You, you are all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine. A bit… hungry, though,” Jon replied, wrapping his arms around Martin and nuzzling in close.

Martin’s grip tightened on Jon a bit. “He hasn’t been giving you food?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

“No, he has. It’s not… I need the statements, now, I think. Part of what I am.”

“We’ll get you back to the Institute, then. Get you sorted out,” Martin said, cupping Jon’s cheek with one hand and touching his forehead to Jon’s. “I was worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…”

“It’s not your fault. Tim’s the one who…” Martin trailed off and shook his head before hugging Jon again.

“So. Should I expect to be taken care of here, or are you going to wait until Jon’s out of sight before you do it? Don’t really see why you would bother, but maybe lying is easier than just making him forget,” Tim said.

Martin reluctantly loosened his grip on Jon. “What?”

“Not too hard to figure out what’s coming next. You’re a monster, and I took your property.”

“Tim, I’m not… I mean, I, I am a little angry with you, but I understand why you acted the way you did. You were trying to look after Jon. I’m not exactly crazy about the fact that you decided that kidnapping was the best way to go about things, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Right. So later it is then. Good to know.”

Martin sighed. "Do you happen to know what Jon can do, Tim?” he asked.

“Do how?”

“He can make people answer his questions. You know, supernaturally. Go on, Jon. Ask him something.”

Jon blinked, not sure where this conversation had gone. “I, ah, what, what made you want to join the Institute, Tim?” he asked.

“Thought it might be a way to figure out what happened to Danny,” Tim replied, then his eyes widened. “What the–”

“There, see. You can’t help but answer. Now ask me if I forced you into this, Jon.”

“Oh. Right, that’s a good idea. Martin, did you in any way coerce me into this relationship?”

“No, never.”

“Did you supernaturally alter my emotions?”

“No.”

“There you go, then,” Jon said, letting go of Martin to turn to face Tim. “That should clear things up.”

“I don’t… How can I believe you? How can I believe any of this?” Tim asked.

“I mean, you don’t have to trust either of us, if you really don’t want to,” Martin replied. “But not trusting anything, not being able to rely on anyone, it’s not good for you. You don’t need to trust us, but you should trust someone. We aren’t your enemies, Tim. And, and if I really am as bad as you seem to think, what difference do you think that distrust is going to make, anyway?”

“I…” Tim trailed off, looking tired.

“Here,” Jon walked back toward Tim and reached out a hand. “Would you let me…?”

Tim swallowed and nodded minutely. Jon took him by the hand and drew him toward where Martin still stood. The both of them hugged Tim together, who was tense but unresisting.

“I can’t promise that things will be okay. They probably won’t be. But you’re not alone,” Jon said.

“Mhm,” Tim replied noncommittally, but he sagged a little bit into the hold and rested his head on Jon’s shoulder.


	8. Dead End, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some anonymous masochist asked for more of this AU. Things do not get better. Again, I recommend skipping this bit if you don't like pain.
> 
> Content warnings- No Happy Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Whump, Mind Control, Aphobia.

It was in the break room when Tim confronted Martin again. “Jon’s been acting different. What happened, what did you do?”

“You were right. I… He doesn’t love me. So, we’ve broken up,” Martin replied, shrugging.

“If that’s true, if Jon knows what you did to him, then why the hell is he okay with you still being around?” Tim demanded.

Martin returned his attention to his mug, removing the teabag and tossing it in the wastebin. “Because he doesn’t know. Because he still thinks that we’re friends.”

“You’re still controlling him, then.”

Martin didn’t bother denying it. “Yes, I am. Jon still needs me around.”

Tim scowled. “No, he doesn’t. And he deserves better than to be puppeted like this. I’m telling him everythi-”

“ _ No, you won’t. _ ” Martin commanded, and Tim froze, his eyes widening. Martin met his gaze and smiled humourlessly. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. If I’m willing to do this to Jon, what makes you think I’d leave you alone?  _ Now go back to your desk, and forget everything to do with this. _ ”

Tim left Martin alone, after that. Martin hoped that all his obstacles would be so easy to handle.

* * *

“Martin, come in.”

“Elias. What do you want?” Martin asked, stepping into the office.

“I’d like to speak to you about your behaviour, these last few months.”

“What behaviour would that be?”

“Your… interference. You’ve neutralized at least four beings now, without involving Jon at all.”

“I’m keeping him safe.”

“You’re keeping him too safe. You’re stifling him, Martin. There’s no way for him to grow like this.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

Elias sighed. “Maybe it isn’t, but it is mine. And I’m afraid you’re forcing my hand. I need you to stop protecting Jon.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Martin replied.

“Oh, but it is. Because I know how Jon actually feels. Or, well, used to feel.”

Martin snorted. “Do you really think that’s going to work? That it’s going to hurt me? I already know that Jon always hated me.”

Elias smiled. “No, Martin. It’s so much worse than that. And I think it’s time that you realize it.”

The knowledge slammed into Martin like an avalanche. The air seized in Martin’s lungs, and his knees buckled. Martin braced his shaking hands against the floor, and the first noise that he managed to make was a strangled whimper. “No. No, Jon, he…”

“He loved you. All on his own, no webs involved. And you ripped it out of him,” Elias said, leaning forward at his desk to keep watching Martin. “And he doesn’t even realize it. Can’t realize it, because you won’t let him. He just knows that something is wrong. And so he thinks it’s him. That this is all his fault, that he’s defective and broken and worthless. It’s what he’s been told before, in so many little ways. It’s so easy to believe it. And every time he looks at you, he thinks about that. About how  _ grateful  _ he is, that you’re willing to overlook his defectiveness and still be his friend.”

“St- stop it,” Martin whimpered, but he couldn’t manage enough composure to put any power behind the words. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. Elias was just saying everything Martin already knew, now.

“I’m not the one doing anything, Martin. This is what you’ve done. I’m simply… clearing away some of the pretty lies you’ve told yourself.”

Martin closed his eyes and felt tears spill down his cheeks. “Why… why did you just leave it? Why did you let me keep doing this?” he asked. 

“I don’t like to micro-manage. What my employees do with their personal lives isn’t really my concern. But you’ve been impacting Jon’s development, so I was forced to intervene,” Elias said. “Now. You’re going to tell Jon what you did to him.”

Martin lifted his head, his throat working on words that seemed to get stuck halfway. He finally managed to say, “No, no, I- I can’t. Jon, he, he still needs to be… I can… I can make him stop feeling bad about-”

“I don’t think you understand your position, Martin. Either you tell him the truth, or I will give him the knowledge instead.”

Martin stared for a moment. “You can’t.”

Elias’ bland smile never wavered. “I very much can. I suppose you could try to stop me, though. If you really think you can work faster than thought. Do you think you could get the order out in time? I don’t believe you can, but you could always try.”

Martin closed his eyes and lowered his head again, letting more tears roll down his cheeks. “Fine,” he choked out. “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad we had this talk.”

* * *

For a long moment, Jon didn’t seem to react, just watching Martin.

“Jon, I’m so sorry,” Martin said, mostly to break the silence. “I really-”

“You controlled me,” Jon said, flatly.

“Yes, but I thought that I-”

“You thought that you were already controlling me, so you decided you might as well just keep doing it?” Jon asked.

“It… It wasn’t like that. I thought I was making things better. I just, I just wanted to keep you safe-”

“No. You just wanted to keep  _ me _ . You never would have let me go, would you? The world that we live in, the paths that we walk, they aren’t safe. They never will be safe, and so you’d always have an excuse. There would always be another threat, another reason to stay, another thing to  _ protect  _ me from.”

“I... “ 

“You didn’t trust me to make my own decisions. You decided that you knew what was best for me and refused to give me any choice in an integral part of my life. You-” The flat, even tone of Jon’s words was lost, and his voice broke. Jon blinked rapidly before turning his face away and closing his eyes. He clenched his hands and swallowed. “I wonder if this would hurt more or less if I could still love you,” he murmured.

“But I, I thought that I got rid of the webs. Did, did I miss any? I’ll-”

Jon snorted. “If you tear off someone’s limb, do you think that handing it back is going to repair the damage?”

Martin fell silent, any possible words dying in his throat.

“I was wrong. I thought that you were proof that, that we still had a choice. That we could be more than what our natures are driving us to be,” Jon shook his head, letting out a shuddering breath. “I should have realized that was a lie. I should have known better. And I never should have trusted you.”

“Jon…”

“Well, better late than never, I suppose,” Jon said bleakly, finally looking back to Martin. “Get out, Martin. Take your things and go. Don’t ever come back to the Archives or my home. I never want to see you again.”

Martin left.

* * *

Much later, when the sky tore open and blinked down on him, Martin wondered if it bothered Jon, finally seeing Martin again.


	9. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/39859821) from Martin's point of view, requested by Gammaspectrum.

The sudden, hurried skitter of spindly legs over Martin's cheek stirred Martin from the restless half-doze he had slipped into, huddled against the wall of the tunnel. The nearby sound of grit crunching under someone's foot jerked him into full wakefulness, and Martin's head snapped up at the same time his heart lurched in his chest. It was Prentiss, she had found him again and--

There was a torch shining into Martin's face. Prentiss wouldn't have a torch, would she? "Hello? Who's--" Martin asked, squinting against the brightness. His eyes adjusted, and he could suddenly make out the figure of the person behind the torch. Martin's heart lurched again, for an entirely different reason. "Jon? You're alive?" Martin scrambled to his feet.

Martin just stared at Jon for a long moment, hesitant to even blink and risk the chance that if he looked away, the mirage would vanish and Jon would still be dead, abandoned and devoured somewhere in the tunnels. 

"You're alive. God, Jon, I thought…" Martin's attention finally rested on the bandages that covered a large portion of Jon's skin. Bandages that had a few scattered blotches of rust-colored darkness where the blood had began to leak through. Martin was suddenly very sure that this Jon was not a mirage, and also that he should absolutely not be down here. “You're hurt. Why are you down here? You're hurt! Is- Is Elias making you work? He can't expect you to work in your condition. You should be at home, resting. I'll- I'll go tell Elias that you need more time to recover, and you--”

“Martin!” Jon snapped, and even Jon shouting at him was a relief when Martin had been sure he'd never hear it again. “Elias didn't tell me to go down here. He doesn't know I'm here at all. It's the middle of the night.”

Martin blinked. “You came down here without telling anyone where you were going? Alone? In the middle of the night?!” he demanded incredulously.

“It's not like it's any brighter down here in the daytime,” Jon muttered.

“That's not the point! You can't do things like this, Jon! It's not safe! Why are you even here?”

“I was looking for you!”

That threw up a brick wall in front of Martin's train of thought. Had he heard that right? “What? Why?”

“Because you didn't come out. I didn't know what happened to you, and I'm sick of mysteries," Jon replied.

“... oh," Martin said. Yeah, that made more sense. "So, if I give you my statement, will you go home and rest?”

“Yes, okay, fine,” Jon agreed, and Martin knew that tone of voice too well to leave it at that.

“For at least a week?”

“Martin…”

“At least a week,” Martin repeated. If he didn't push this, then Jon would be doing something stupid and dangerous by this time tomorrow, he was sure.

“... fine. A week. I promise. Are you happy now?” Jon asked, sounding annoyed.

“Yes. Thank you. I… Do you want to sit down, first? You look… pretty bad. We- um-” Damn, it wasn't like he could just invite Jon to sit down on the floor with him. “We could go back to the Archives?”

“Do you even know how to get back?”

“Well, I mean… no.” Martin admitted. He'd been planning on finding a way out later, once everything had calmed down a bit.

“Here is fine," Jon said.

“Are- are you sure? You-”

“It is fine, Martin, and the longer you take to give your statement, the longer I am kept away from home and my solemnly sworn rest.”

So Martin relented, and gave Jon his statement. At least, he'd tried to, but he'd gotten to the part where the spiders had started finding him and Jon interrupted, focusing entirely on Gertrude and the tapes. And then he demanded, “You need to take me there.”

“What?”

“To the room where Gertrude is. I need to listen to those tapes.”

He couldn't be serious. “Have you been listening to me? It’s a crime scene, Jon. We can’t just--”

“Yes, it is a crime scene, and if the police find out about it then they will take everything away and I will never be able to access them. We can’t let that happen.”

“That’s not--”

“Martin!” Jon shouted, and Martin had just about enough of this.

Apparently, Jon was scared enough of Martin to stare at him like he was some kind of monster, but not enough to not venture while wounded into lightless, worm-infested tunnels in the middle of the night to come looking for Martin, because  _ that _ made so much sense. And now he was expecting Martin to help him do even more stupid, illegal things? “I gave you my statement. You promised that you would go home and rest," Martin said.

“This is more important than that.”

“You’re already bleeding through some of your bandages, Jon. You need to stop.”

“No, what I need to do is figure out this bloody mystery before--” Jon started to argue, infuriatingly, and that was it. Martin had run out of patience, Jon had made Martin a promise, and Jon was damn well going to keep it.

" _ Go home, Jon _ ," Martin snapped, all his frustration and worry and exhaustion pouring into that one sentence.

And the light went out in Jon's eyes. His posture sagged back from the confrontational lean forward, and the scowl dropped off his face. Then he turned on his heel and started walking away.

"Wh, what? Jon?" Martin asked.

There was no response, and Jon disappeared around the corner.

"Jon!" Martin hurried forward to keep Jon in sight. "What's going on, what are you doing?"

Still nothing, Jon just kept moving forward at a brisk walking place.

"Is, is this the silent treatment? I don't- look, this isn't really like you, Jon. If you're just angry with me, can you call me an ass or something? Or tell me to shut up? You're starting to scare me."

No response.

"Look, Jon, I don't know what you're doing. Are you planning on looking for Gertrude on your own? Is that it? It's not worth it, Jon. You're already hurt, you shouldn't… Are you listening to me?"

He apparently wasn't. They had both reached the area where the dead worms began by now, and Jon's pace didn't change. He walked through the strewn corpses without any reaction as the things squelched and burst under his shoes. Martin cringed and followed after him.

"Jon? Jon, I know you don't… like me, at all, but even you have to admit that this is a bad idea. There's dozens of tunnels down here, and exploring them all will take hours. And, and even if you do find Gertrude, what if you get lost? Do you have any extra batteries? What if your torch goes out and you're stuck down here? You, you can't rely on me being able to lead you out, because I don't know how to get back to the Institute, either. You'll be trapped down here, with, with me. And, I mean, doesn't that just sound like your worst nightmare? Jon?"

Nothing.

"I don't… look, you're not even going in the right direction. There's no way you'll be able to find her before you run out of light or collapse."

Jon didn't react to that, not even to change directions.

"Jon? I'm not doing some kind of reverse psychology thing. If, if you think that I'm just trying to throw you off the scent because you're getting too close, I'm not. The way to get to Gertrude is down off that third intersection we passed."

Absolutely no response, and that scared Martin even more than the way that the shifting shadows cast by the torch made the worms sometimes look like they were still moving.

"Jon?! Jon, look, you, you win, okay? You win. If, if you'll stop being so quiet and creepy, then I'll show you how to get to Gertrude, all right? We, we can go tomorrow, after you've gotten some sleep, how does that sound?"

Not even that made Jon whirl on him and demand to be shown right this instant. Martin's stomach dropped further. They had passed by the worms now, and Jon showed no signs of slowing. Where the hell was he going?

Martin saved his breath for following, and winced as he watched a handful of new dark blotches begin to seep through Jon's bandages.

A set of stairs came into view around the next bend. They led upwards, so maybe they were a way out? Was Jon trying to get out of the tunnels? Had Jon seen something down here and was trying to escape?

Martin shot a worried glance back over his shoulder, but he couldn't see anything coming after them. And surely if Jon had seen something that would make him abandon his goal to find Gertrude just to get away from it, he would have ran?

The stairs led up to a closed trap door, and Martin had an awful premonition of Jon continuing up at the same unchanging pace and bashing his head against the unyielding metal. "Jon, wait!" Martin exclaimed, hurrying forward but too late.

Jon did not wait, but he did slow as he ascended the stairs, and pushed open the trap door before he continued upward. Martin let out a sigh.

They were back in the Institute, from the looks of all the shelves around them. Somewhere in the storage stacks? Jon kept moving forward, and Martin glanced backward at the open trap door behind them, a dark and empty mouth stretching wide. Martin shuddered and flipped the door closed before hurrying after Jon.

He followed Jon out of the Institute, down the street, and to a bus stop. Jon finally stopped there, staring blankly across the street.

"Jon? Jon, are you, are you feeling better?"

No response. Martin waved his hand in front of Jon's face, and there wasn't any sign of acknowledgement or recognition. Martin sighed.

They waited for seven minutes before the bus came, and before Jon did anything more active than breathe and blink. The stillness of it all was disquieting, Martin was used to Jon being constantly in motion, always pushing forward onto the next task or fidgeting with pens and paperclips and papers as he thought.

The ride was uneventful, aside for the side-eye they got from the driver. Martin supposed that the both of them had to look pretty rough. Jon settled into a seat, putting his torch and tape recorder aside. Martin sat next to him, because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what was happening.

Eventually, Jon got to his feet again and headed for the door. He left the tape recorder behind, and Martin was more sure than ever that something was terribly wrong. He snatched up the tape recorder and torch and hurried to disembark before the bus pulled away.

Jon headed unhesitatingly down the street, eventually reaching an apartment building.

An apartment building Jon had keys for.

_ Go home, Jon. _ The pieces started to fall into place, and Martin's stomach dropped. Had he done this to Jon? It was the only explanation Martin really had, wasn't it? He'd told Jon to go home, and Jon had gone.

But what would happen, when he got there? What if this didn't wear off? Would Jon just stand there, unmoving, like he had at the bus stop? Would Jon ever be Jon again?

Panic started to rise in Martin's throat, and he rushed up the stairs after Jon, up to the door that Jon unlocked, stepped inside, and froze past the threshold of.

That was it, then, Jon would never move again, he would just stand there until he died from lack of water and it was all Martin's fault, and...

“Oh god, oh god, I’m so sorry Jon, please snap out of it, please, I’m sorry. Jon. Jon, please, I don’t know what I did, I didn’t mean to do it, please snap out of it--”

"Martin?" Jon asked, turning his head.

Martin gasped, hope and relief lurching in his chest. "Jon? Is that you?"


	10. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits of Chapters [29](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/45774895), [30](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/46280512), and [31](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/46952542) from Martin's point of view, requested by Gammaspectrum.
> 
> Content warning- Minor internalized aphobia, anxiety symptoms, implied homophobia/transphobia.

Jon stopped in the middle of the hall to stare as the person they were chasing disappeared through the solid floor.

“Jon! The key!” Martin exclaimed, not wanting to let them get too far ahead.

Jon fumbled and produced the key. “It’s here, but-” Jon started to say, but Martin snatched the key out of his hand and dashed for the trap door.

He wasn't sure exactly how the passage through solid material worked, but surely if it were easy to do, then the person would have just melted through the floor in the storage room instead of running all the way back to the trap door. Most likely, that meant that they would have gone onto the stairs, and hopefully stumbled through the fine, near invisible webs that Martin had gotten his friends to spin across the passage.

“Martin, it’s no use. You saw how they just-- went through the floor. They’re gone. Into the tunnels. It’s not… Whatever they can do down there, we’ll never find them now,” Jon pointed out, as Martin ignored him to pull open the padlock and flip up the trap door.

Bingo. Martin snagged one of the torn ends of the threads and felt the shiver of vibration from the far end of it. Live prey, and all he had to do was follow it. 

Martin grinned and straightened up to show Jon. "Well, I'm not so sure about that," he replied.

Jon gasped, his eyes lighting up. Being able to make Jon smile still made Martin's heart flutter, but that was nothing compared to what happened when Jon said, “I love you."

Martin’s jaw dropped. “What?” he asked, reeling.

Jon, of course, made no explanation for that baffling statement and instead rushed forward to grab Martin's hand and tug him down the stairs. “Come on, come on! We’re losing time!”

* * *

Martin had needed to compartmentalize whatever the hell Jon had meant during the chase and interrogation.

But after they had clambered out of the tunnels and hidden the book away, the memory crawled out of the box Martin had shoved it into and plunked itself directly in the front of Martin's brain.

Martin kept playing the scene over and over again, idly flexing the hand that Jon had been holding afterward. Martin was almost entirely certain he hadn't misheard Jon. The Archives had been quiet, and Jon had been four feet away.

So what the hell did it _ mean _?

Jon didn't seem inclined to explain it at all, which, okay, fair. A lot had just been dumped in their laps tonight.

But also the uncertainty was eating Martin alive.

Martin had managed to keep the questions at bay while they rode the train back home, but when Jon went to shut himself away in his bedroom without saying another word, Martin broke.

“Jon, I, I know this is probably the least important thing that we have to worry about, but I, uh… Well, I kind of need to get some kind of explanation for it, about, about what you said, earlier…” he mumbled.

Jon paused. "What I said?"

"You, uh, you said that you loved--" Martin started, and then rapidly realized that Jon wasn't just asking for clarification, but honestly didn't seem to remember saying it. It hadn't meant anything, obviously, but now Martin had gone and brought up the topic and made everything awkward. He frantically tried to backpedal. "But that's ridiculous, isn't it? I mean, it, it was just a turn of phrase, or something you only said in the heat of the moment, or something like that, obviously. I shouldn't have brought it up, nevermind."

"What? I said-- oh. Oh." Jon breathed, seeming to realize what Martin had been talking about. 

Martin winced and braced himself for Jon to make his best attempt at letting Martin down easy. 

"... it was in the heat of the moment, but it wasn't just a turn of phrase. I meant it-" Jon cut himself off. "But I shouldn't have said it."

What. "You- What? Why not?" Martin asked.

“I… I'm your boss, Martin. This isn't… it's not appropriate for me to…” Jon said.

Martin blinked. Of all the things for Jon to be worried about. “Under normal circumstances, yeah. But this isn't exactly a normal situation. For starters, I don't think you could fire me, not even if you wanted to. And, and besides, it's not like we haven't already crossed some professional boundaries. I mean, we're already living together, kind of…”

Jon shook his head. “That's another reason why I shouldn't… I'm the only thing between you and homelessness, Martin. The implications of-”

“Jon,” Martin said, and Jon fell silent. “I don't really think this is about you worrying about being coercive. You already know how I feel about you. And… and you don't need to make excuses. If you don't want to do this, for any reason, you can just tell me no. I won't push you.”

“I don't… I don't _ not _want to do this. I did… I meant it, what I said before. But I'm… scared,” Jon admitted.

Martin felt his stomach sink. Of course. Jon was still scared of him. It was understandable; it wasn’t like Martin’s situation had changed any, and Jon was still afraid of spiders. The initial excuses made sense now; Jon was probably worried about how Martin would react. Martin nodded and backed off. “Yeah, that makes sense. This whole spider thing of mine has to be pretty off-putting, especially for you. It's all right,” Martin assured him.

Jon looked surprised. “What? No, I'm not scared of you! For you, maybe. But not… The worry I have, about this topic specifically, it's not the 'spider thing'. It's- I'm scared that I'll ruin everything, if I try this. I… Well, let's just say I don't have the best track record with relationships. You may not have noticed, but I can be a bit of an ass,” Jon said dryly.

Martin smiled at him, a combination of relief and disbelief at the strange things Jon worried about. “Well, now that you bring it up, I might be able to remember a few instances of that. You know, if I think about it really, really hard,” he teased.

“Shut up, Martin,” Jon grumbled.

“Yeah, there's one. Look, I do have some idea of what you're like, Jon. I don't know everything, of course. I don't know if I ever will. But I’m pretty sure I'd like it, having the opportunity to learn more, if you'd let me. Even when you're being an ass,” Martin added, still smiling.

Jon took a deep breath, and Martin noticed how much more tense he had suddenly become. “Well, you should probably know one more thing about me, before you make that call. I'm asexual. I don't want to, and won't, participate in any sexual activity, not with anyone. Not even with you. And that won't change. I won't ever be 'ready',” Jon said.

The realization of the information that Jon was trusting Martin with crashed into Martin all at once, and Martin hurriedly stopped smiling, remembering previous stressful instances when he’d been the one coming out to someone new. The last thing he wanted was Jon to think that Martin was making fun of him or not taking him seriously. Martin inhaled to say something, but Jon was already looking away from Martin and rushing ahead.

“I know, it's not… I know you have a limited amount of options with your condition and it's not fair that even when you find someone who… cares for you that you still don't have someone who can provide… but I can't. I won't. Not ever,” he said rapidly, shoulders hunching and hands clenching. Martin’s heart ached for him, and he wanted to take away all the experiences that had ever taught Jon to expect pain when revealing this part of himself.

Martin couldn’t do that, but he could at least make this time be better, hopefully. “Jon,” Martin said softly. He stepped forward and gingerly touched Jon’s hand, wanting to provide some reassurance. Jon didn’t flinch away, so that was something. Martin tried to come up with the right words. “Don't- don't apologize for something like that. It's not… I love _ you _. All of you. I wouldn't ever ask you to compromise a fundamental part of yourself. I would never want you to do that, especially not because of me. I’m really happy that you told me about this. That you trusted me with this. And I'd like to… to give this a try. A relationship. If you want to. And, and if you don't, then I'll still be your friend. That won't change. Okay?”

Martin could see Jon’s throat work as he swallowed. He took another breath before he met Martin’s eyes again, and before his hand unclenched and turned to clasp Martin’s hand. “Then, yes. I'd like to be with you,” Jon said.

* * *

They had eventually needed to turn in for the night, though it had taken Martin a long while to relax long enough, giddiness buzzing through his veins and making him press his smile into his pillow. There were still horrors looming on the horizon, but in the soft dark of Jon’s apartment, with Jon sleeping just a room away from Martin, they seemed distant and nebulous enough to ignore.

Martin eventually managed to drift off.

Then morning dawned, and with it came the gnawing doubts, like they had been incubating overnight. Martin just lay on the sofa for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Now that he'd had some space to consider things, he was sure that he was misremembering last night. It couldn’t possibly have been real. It didn’t make any sense. Jon never would have said that he loved Martin, that would be crazy. And everything else, Martin being able to help chase down Leitner and get some answers from him, that seemed incredibly far-fetched in the light of day.

Martin didn't have good dreams, not any more, but maybe there had been an exception? Or maybe Martin had experienced some kind of hallucination. It wasn't like there weren't plenty of things out there that liked messing with people's perception.

And even if it had been real, then Jon would think better of it in the morning light. It had been a very stressful night, after all; it only made sense that Jon would have wanted something comforting, something to take his mind off of their reality. Martin had just been the only thing at hand at the moment.

Martin didn’t begrudge him that. Jon had been looking after Martin, had let him stay in his home after everything. It was only fair for Martin to provide some support in return. It didn’t mean that he should expect anything to come of it.

Martin sighed, got up, and went to get started on breakfast. He wanted to make sure that Jon knew Martin was all right with things going back to normal. Jon might not want to talk about it, so Martin would give him the opportunity to just let the topic drop. They could just pretend it never happened, that was fine.

If he was honest with himself, he’d much rather have that happen, than have to listen to Jon explain why last night had clearly been a mistake and something he wanted to take back.

He’d just finished cooking the eggs when the door to Jon’s bedroom creaked open and Jon came out, his hair mussed and his pajamas rumpled with sleep. 

“Good morning, Jon,” Martin said, and he wanted to keep looking at Jon, wanted to run his fingers through Jon’s hair and help get it in order. Instead he returned his gaze to the plates, picking them up to keep his hands busy. It was like some part of him still hadn’t got the message that Jon was obviously going to want to take everything back, if it had even actually happened in the first place. _Keep it together, Martin._ “I, uh, are you hungry?”

“I am,” Jon replied, and Martin heard his footsteps cross the kitchen before feeling Jon’s lips brush over his cheek in what was unmistakably a kiss. “Thank you.”

Martin nearly dropped the plates he was holding, and his initial shock was tempered by the rush of embarrassment and the hurry to put breakfast down before he ruined it.

Martin looked at Jon again, this time with clearer eyes. Jon was still adorable, but he was also watching Martin with an expression that looked very much like fondness. The hope that Martin had desperately tried to strangle came roaring back, feeling like it had set the inside of his ribcage alight. "So last night was real, then?" Martin asked, needing to make sure.

"Yes, it was," Jon replied, but then his expression grew more distant and troubled. "...all of it."

Right, everything that happened with Leitner. It was clearly still weighing on Jon, and that only made sense. "Yeah. Are you… all right?" Martin asked.

Jon let out a humourless snort of a laugh. "No. I don't believe that I'll ever be 'all right' again."

Martin's heart ached for Jon, and he stepped towards him, wanting to hold him close and make everything better. He hesitated as he reached out, not sure if Jon would be okay with being touched. But Jon was looking at him, and he didn't shrink away when Martin came closer. So Martin bundled Jon into his arms, wrapping him up like he could protect him from the rest of the world and all the things that lay beyond it. "I'm sorry. I wish… I wish I could fix this for you."

Jon melted into the hug, slumping bonelessly against Martin. "It's not something either of us can change. On the bright side, at least we're in this together now," he mumbled.

Martin made an unhappy sound. He didn't hate the abilities he had now, he was actually glad that he had the power to protect Jon, to exert some control over their situation. But he remembered the way that Jon had looked at him when he'd first realized what Martin was. The way that Tim had looked at him. The stares he had sometimes gotten from the people in the park, when they spotted a spider crawling along his arm or descending into his cupped hands with dozens of her babies clinging to her back. Martin still felt the pull of his instincts now, the ones that whispered how much easier Martin could make everything, if he wanted. 

Martin was willing to sacrifice his humanity, if it meant he could protect the people he cared about. But he never wanted Jon to need to make that choice. He'd never wanted Jon to be trapped like Martin was. And Martin was trapped; he had no illusions about that. The webs didn't only pull in one direction. "I'd rather be dealing with this alone, than have you be stuck with me," Martin said.

"The sentiment is appreciated, but I think it's too late for that."

Martin sighed and loosened his hold on Jon, drawing away until he was only holding Jon's hand, which he used to pull him toward the kitchen table. "I suppose. Come on, the tea is getting cold."


	11. Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short "what-if" chapter, requested by Anonymous, featuring a scene that might have happened if Jon had gone through his canonical S4 arc of resenting having feelings and guilt. (He doesn't though, this is just an AU). It's not a great outcome.

“Martin,” Jon mumbled, arms wrapped around himself. He felt like he would fall apart otherwise, like the guilt and fear and shame and exhaustion would finally pull him to pieces. “You… don’t care about other people, do you?”

“Not really, no,” Martin replied, and Jon could feel the way the answer was pulled out of him. After the Beholding’s grip lessened, Martin shook his head and cleared his throat. “I- I mean, I love you, Jon. I care about you.”

“But not about anyone else. That’s… Why doesn’t the Beholding do that to me? Why do you get to… to not feel like this?”

“I, I mean. you’re supposed to experience things. To witness them. Empathy’s a part of that whole package, I bet. But for me, a sense of detachment makes manipulation a lot easier,” Martin replied, reaching out and bundling Jon into his arms.

“I don’t want this,” Jon said, sagging against Martin.

“I know. I’m sorry, Jon.” One of Martin’s hands came to rest on Jon’s head, gently smoothing down his hair.

“No. I don’t… I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to… to care. I’m so tired of caring, Martin.” Jon buried his face against the soft warmth of Martin’s jumper. His eyes burned, and he didn’t know if it was from a lack of sleep or an unfulfilled need to cry. “Can you… can you fix it? Can you take this away from me?”

The hand on Jon’s head stilled. “I… No, not, not without using my powers on you. And I promised that I wouldn’t do that.”

“But if I asked you to?”

“Only if you’re really, really sure about it, Jon. I know how much you hate this, and I don’t want to–”

“I don’t care. I don’t– If I’m going to be a monster then I’d rather be a full one. I don’t want to feel like this any more. Get rid of it for me, Martin. Please,” Jon pleaded.

“Oh, Jon,” Martin murmured, pulling back slightly and cupping Jon’s cheek with one hand. He smiled and stooped to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this for you.”

Jon could feel it when the cobwebs began to creep into his mind, and he let them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably would have led Jon and Martin to turn out more like the folks in [Better than love letters](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/17615180).


	12. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interstitial couple of scenes, featuring what Martin gets up to while he's alone in the park. Takes place some time between [Chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/42397079) and [Chapter 26](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951992/chapters/44877172).

Martin had a problem.

Well, he had a lot of problems, but this one was one of the most pressing at the moment.

He didn’t want to scare Jon, didn’t want to give him any more of a reason to treat Martin like a monster. Which wasn’t exactly easy; Jon was clearly an arachnophobe and there was only so much Martin could do about the spiders.

More importantly, though, he needed to not trap Jon, to not control him again. The memory of how blank Jon had gone, on that long trip from the tunnels, still haunted Martin some nights.

And Martin had done that by accident; what was to say that he wouldn’t do that again?

He needed a better idea of how this thing worked; he needed better control.

And so it only made sense that Martin would need to… practice.

He hadn’t been lying to Jon; he _ had _ been writing poetry, and he had been enjoying the outdoors. And being here had served double-duty to try to keep the spiders away from Jon.

But that hadn’t been the only thing he’d been doing in the park.

There were a lot of people who passed through here, after all.

He’d tried a few innocuous requests to begin with; mostly in the form of “Tell me the time, please”, but none of that had felt any different, and Martin couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t just come across naturally helpful people.

The first time he knew he’d actually done something was when one man had passed by his bench and tossed an empty plastic bottle aside to land in the grass. 

“Hey! _ Pick that up!” _ Martin snapped, and the man jerked to a sudden stop. 

He turned around and marched back to the place where he’d tossed the trash, picking the bottle back up and clasping it in both hands before looking at Martin with a confused expression.

And there it was. Martin could feel the fine strands he’d pulled, the threads wrapped around the man’s limbs. They were loose now, but… Martin pointed in the direction he had initially been headed. “There’s recycling bins at the park entrance. _ Go throw the bottle away properly _.”

And the man went.

Martin smiled and sat back on the bench. “Well, one good deed for the day,” he murmured to himself. He had a better idea now, of how he could tap into the ability. But it really did warrant more testing.

He wouldn’t make anyone do anything bad, of course. But sometimes people really did need a bit of help, to do the right thing.

* * *

After Martin had gotten a handle on short-term orders, he felt more confident about just what he could do, and how _ not _ to do it. But also, it really was a terribly convenient thing to have. And what with… well, everything that he and Jon were up against right now, they could use all the help they could get.

Just with the handful of effects he’d already made, he had a much better handle on how to do things more subtly, so that people weren’t so alarmed or confused after being released. They barely even seemed to notice, any more.

It would be irresponsible of him to _ not _ keep in practice. Besides, he still had more that he had to learn.

Most importantly at the moment, Martin needed to test out what would happen if he issued a command without an established end condition, something that couldn't be completed immediately. How long would the effect last for, and would he be able to undo it?

But, in the event that whatever Martin did was permanent, if he couldn't undo it, he shouldn't pick something that would ruin someone's life. He wasn't a bad person; he just needed to know what kind of thing he was dealing with, that was all. He could come up with some experiment that wouldn't seriously harm a person but still be obvious enough to notice.

His habit of people-watching provided him with the ideal opportunity just a few days afterward.

There was a woman who came through the park every day, right around the same time. Probably heading to or from work. But every time she did, instead of following the constructed paths, she cut the corner at an intersection between them, crossing over the grass and saving a few seconds.

She did it reliably for a week, enough for Martin to feel confident he could expect how she’d normally behave. So he had acted at the beginning of the next week.

"Hi! Um, excuse me," Martin called, hurrying forward to fall into step beside the woman. “Sorry, this will only take a second, but I couldn’t help but notice that you cut over the grass over there.” 

“Yeah? What about it?” she asked, eyeing Martin with suspicion.

"_Don't take that shortcut any more _," Martin said, letting the threads snap into place. “It’s bad for the grass, you know?”

The woman faltered for a second, blinking. “Right. Yeah, bad for the grass. I won’t do that any more,” she mumbled.

Martin beamed. “Great! Thanks, have a nice day,” he replied, and stopped walking next to her, and it didn’t take long for her to disappear out of his line of sight again.

Now he could find out just how long that lasted for; if it would wear off. And if it was permanent? Well, the woman would need to walk for an extra second or two every day. No harm done, not really. Better for Martin to find out now, with something innocuous, than for him to end up really damaging someone.

* * *

Every day after that, Martin watched the woman follow the established path through the park. After two weeks, he was fairly confident that whatever web he’d woven for her, it wasn’t going to wear off any time soon, possibly not ever. That answered one question.

Now for the next one, could he undo it?

It took a few days for him to work it out, mostly because the woman was only within his line of sight for a very limited period of time every day, but eventually he got a hang of feeling for the anchor points where the web had affixed itself. Giving it a good metaphorical yank had done the trick, snapping the strands loose.

She seemed to have noticed something, pausing and looking around for a second. Martin had loosened his clenched hands and waved politely, and the woman moved on.

She was cutting across the grass again the next day.

* * *

“Hi there! I’ve seen you around a lot and I can’t help but be a bit curious, just what are you writing down in that book?” a cheery voice interrupted Martin’s scribbling, and he looked up.

A middle-aged man in a track suit stood nearby, breathing slightly more heavily with exertion. Martin had seen him before; he tended to jog through the park around this time. He seemed friendly enough, though he looked more tired than Martin was used to seeing.

“Oh, not too much. Poetry, mostly,” Martin replied. “You want to take a seat?”

“I do, actually. Tried a different route this time; it took more out of me than I thought. You don’t mind?”

“Go ahead,” Martin replied, gesturing at the empty space beside him.

“Thanks,” the man said, flopping down. He extended a hand. “Charles. And you are?”

“Martin. Nice to meet you,” Martin answered, shaking his offered hand.

“Same to you. So, poetry, huh?”

“Mhm. It’s nothing special, really,” Martin replied.

“All right, I won’t pry. I know how creative folks can be about their stuff before it’s finished. So what brings you here so often, do you work around here?” Charles asked, gesturing at the messenger bag Martin had brought along with him after coming here from the Archives.

“Nah, though I do live nearby. I work at the Magnus Institute, actually,” Martin replied. “I just come here to… unwind, after work.”

“I see. Can’t say I’ve heard of that institute, but it sounds impressive.”

“Hmn,” Martin hummed, noncommittally. “What about you, are you training for a marathon or something?”

“Haha, no. That’s a bit outside of my skill level; I’m just trying to stay fit. I’m an accountant, actually, I work down by-- oh, ergh!” Charles suddenly cut himself off, flinching. Martin saw the reason for the reaction at the same time that Charles raised his hand to swat it; a Black Lace Weaver that had crawled onto the man’s arm.

"_Stop _," Martin demanded, and Charles did, freezing in place.

Martin sighed and reached over, coaxing the little spider onto his hand. "There you go, that's a good girl," Martin cooed, turning his hand over as the spider scurried over his knuckles. Then he turned his attention back to Charles, who hadn’t moved.

“_Look at me _,” Martin said. Charles slowly turned his face away from his arm and met Martin’s eyes. He looked scared; Martin wondered if that was because of him or just the expression he had when he’d spotted the spider. It didn’t really matter.

"It's not very nice, you know, to kill something just because you can, just because you're bigger and more powerful than they are. Just because there isn’t anything they can do to stop you," Martin remarked. "You wouldn't want someone to do that to you now, would you?"

Charles didn’t reply. Martin noticed another spider starting to creep over Charles’ shoulder, a False Widow this time. He supposed it was only to be expected, given the number of spiders that had started to congregate in the nearby shrub. “Ah, let me get that for you,” Martin said, reaching out to scoop up the second spider with his free hand.

“Anyway, I hope you’ll think about what I said. _ You can go now _.”

Charles lurched off the bench immediately and ran without looking back.


End file.
